A Homily Thread for the Nativity of St. John the Baptist

Homily tweeting for the Feast of the Nativity of St John Baptist:

The Nativity of St John Baptist, the forerunner of Christ, who prepares the way for Christ, who is in himself the hinge between the Old Testament and the New, culminating the ministries of the prophets by introducing to the world the “Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” This is one of the oldest, if not the oldest, feast of any saint in the Church’s calendar.  

But why today, June 24th? Well, for starters, we may work out the date by the information St Luke gives to us in his Gospel. Remember that when the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary to invite her to become the Mother of God’s Only-Begotten, after Mary had given her assent, her fiat, Gabriel told her also of John’s coming birth: “And behold, your kinswoman Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren.” 

“It is the sixth month with her.” So John, we may infer, was born six months before Jesus. And the Church kept the feast of the Annunciation on March the 25th, and so of course also kept the feast of the Lord’s Nativity, Christmas, nine months later, on December 25th. 

And if Elizabeth was six months pregnant with John when our Lord was conceived in the womb of the Blessed Virgin Mary, then that would put the birth of John in late June, and so the Church already in the 5th century was keeping this great feast of John’s Nativity on June 24th. 

But again, the ancients were much closer to nature and her cycles than are we, and so they saw another significance in these dates. The Lord’s Nativity is, they knew, celebrated on - or about, close to - the Winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere, after which the days slowly get longer; the light increases. And John’s nativity is celebrated on - or about, close to - the Summer solstice, technically this past Thursday, the longest day and shortest night of the year after which, after today, the days slowly grow shorter and the nights longer; the darkness increases and will do so all the way until, well, Christmastime, when the light will grow. 

So we keep John’s feast today because of the Biblical timeline, but liturgically, these feasts have a kind of cosmic significance. 

The change in the seasons, the growing darkness followed by the growing light, proclaim the Baptist’s own words to his disciples as he directed them to Jesus: “He must increase, but I must decrease.” 

Again, we don’t live so close to nature any more. Solstice and equinox pass without notice. We live in an electrified world; if it’s dark, we flip a switch and - hey, presto - it’s light again. 

But our forefathers and mothers in the faith were very much aware that each day, beginning today, would have a little less light and a little more darkness. 

For them, keeping St John the Baptist’s feast on this day, at the Summer solstice, was itself the beginning of an eloquent, year-long sermon. 

It was John the Baptist again preaching to us from the heavens, directing our attention, directing or hope, to the coming of Christ, the light of Christ coming in to the darkness of this world, and overcoming it. 

“He must increase, and I must decrease,” John is saying to us still, and so setting out the program for every Christian life, every year, every day.

By the example and at the intercession of St John the Baptist, and beginning this very day, may the light of Christ increase in each one of us, overcoming the darkness of pride and selfishness in our own hearts, so that we, like John, may become beacons of God love and mercy.

Letter from Fr. Allen: June 22, 2018

adoration-clipart-chalice.jpg

+JMJ+

Dear friends,

This Sunday the regular progression of Sundays after Trinity is interrupted by the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, which takes precedence over the Sunday. In the Gospel we will hear again how John's father, Zechariah, who had lost the power of speech when he expressed his incredulity at the angel Gabriel's announcement that his wife Elizabeth would bear a son (for Elizabeth was "barren, and both were advanced in years"), regains his voice upon naming the child John, as Gabriel had instructed him. 

So, for nine months, Zechariah was silent. It was a punishment, of course, for his unbelief. A punishment, to be sure, but also a gift - at least I would think so. Certainly it would be frustrating not to be able to make yourself understood, your wishes known. But at the same time, that enforced silence must have given opportunity to reflect on the angel's visit, on the miracle (surely a miracle, and at least the great surprise) of his unborn child's conception, the visitation of his kinswoman Mary, bearing her own miracle Child, and then to give thanks, to turn his heart in praise to God, perhaps even to compose in his mind that great hymn of praise which came pouring out of him when his tongue was finally loosed: "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he hath visited and redeemed his people; And hath raised up a mighty salvation for us, in the house of his servant David..."

Zechariah was granted (whether he wanted it or not) the gift of silence. But ordinarily for us, silence is a discipline we must undertake and develop: to let another speak and to attend to his or her words; not to respond to every internet provocation; to really think through a concern; and especially in prayer, not to fill the minutes with words but to be quiet and listen for God's still, small voice.

And of course, with Zechariah, after the silence comes praise. [Here] you may listen to a song my children and I love by Rain for Roots, a band that specializes in Bible story-songs for children (of all ages). It captures the building tension in Zechariah's heart as the day of John's birth approaches, and the wonderful release that comes when, in obedience, he names the child "John."

May God grant us, as he did Zechariah, the twin gifts of silence and song.

God bless you, 
Fr Allen

A Homily Thread on the Parable of the Mustard Seed

Parable of the Mustard Seed etching by Jan Luyken 

Parable of the Mustard Seed etching by Jan Luyken 

Homily thread [on the Parable of the Mustard Seed for the Third Sunday after Trinity]:

It is easy to lose patience, to become frustrated with injustice in the world, frustrated with sin and corruption and ineffectual leadership in the Church, frustrated with the slow-to-the-point-of backing up growth of holiness in our own lives.

It's really easy to be impatient with the impatience of others. We want it all to happen now. But listen to our Lord's parables of the Kingdom. God is doing the building, not us.

Even in the natural world, he takes the tiny, insignificant mustard seed and he turns it into a plant that becomes a home for birds. Our Lord dies, his battered body is planted in the grave, and his body, and with it our frail humanity, is raised to new and eternal life.

And he takes twelve insignificant, often fearful, often doubting men in an insignificant backwater outpost of the Roman empire and builds a Church that fills the whole world, and so many of us have found rest in its shade.

So, patience. We must never look at the world, or at the Church, or at our neighbor, or in the mirror, and lose hope. And no cup of water given in Jesus' Name, no word of encouragement spoken, no act of love, no matter how small, is given in vain.

These are seeds scattered in the Lord's garden, and he will give the increase. He who began this good work, this Kingdom of righteousness, will bring it to completion in the day of Jesus Christ.

And God, as he always has, will use the most unlikely-seeming, the most insignificant-appearing, means to do it: a splash of water, hands laid upon a head and smudge of oil, a bit of bread and a sip of wine; a kind word; a sign held on a sidewalk; a whispered prayer.

He will use even you and me. /Amen.

Letter from Fr. Allen: June 15, 2018

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+JMJ+

Dear friends,

How do we treat things that are precious? With care, of course. I recently read a fascinating (to me, anyway) book with the quirky title, Meetings with Remarkable Manuscripts, by Christopher de Hamel, in which the author takes the reader, as it were, on trips to libraries across Europe and North America where he examines twelve of the most precious medieval manuscripts in existence, and relates those experiences to the reader, telling not only the history and significance of the manuscript (for instance, a Book of Gospels produced in Rome in the 6th century and which is almost certainly the same volume sent by Pope St. Gregory the Great to St. Augustine of Canterbury, the great missionary to England), but also the actual process and more tactile sensations of handling the book - what the manuscript feels like, what it smells like, and so on. 

But of course these are rare, fragile books and may only be viewed under careful conditions. So de Hamel describes his encounter with the famous 8th century Book of Kells, Ireland's most precious cultural artifact, which resides in the library of Trinity College, Dublin. The book was brought from its vault to a specially secured room. A humidifier had been brought in earlier in the day to make sure that the atmosphere was at the optimum condition for preservations of the vulnerable parchment. There was a special table, "prepared in advance with foam pads, a digital thermometer, and white gloves." But even the white gloves were not for de Hamel, who was to keep his hands to himself. Instead, the library's chief keeper of manuscripts carefully turned the pages "with the extreme tips of his fingers, usually from top and bottom simultaneously."

I know that medieval manuscripts are not likely so fascinating to you as to me. But what should be common to us all is the careful, thoughtful handling of a rare and precious things. No doubt we all have our own personal objects which we treat with comparable care: children may look, perhaps, but certainly not touch.

And if we are so about an object, a thing, how much more so must we be careful in handling, in touching, a person - not just with thought and care but also with, if I can put it this way, "charity aforethought." I thought of this last Sunday as I held little Westy Miller and conferred upon him the sacrament of Baptism - what a gift to hold in my arms this little child, so tiny, so vulnerable, but willed and intended and redeemed by God, infinitely precious.

All of which is to say each time we make our Holy Communion, we are receiving not just something, but Someone, our Divine Redeemer, and so it is important that we do so with thought, with care, with love.

Below you will see a short video which is helpful for thinking about this - not only in what the Church requires, but also how those objective requirements serve and enhance our own devotion in faithfully receiving our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. So watch, and then at Mass "taste and see that the Lord is good."

God bless you, 
Fr Allen

P.S.  Several of you have asked about the decision of the Supreme Court of the United States not to hear the appeal in the dispute within (between?) the local Episcopal/Anglican diocese(s). I will indeed have a little something to say about that soon, but for now, please do pray for these brothers and sisters and Christ, for many of whom this is a very painful and uncertain time, and let us resolve again to be a community always of joyful and peaceful Catholics, whose life together is a sign of the unity Christ desires for his Church.

“How to Receive the Eucharist” from the Archdiocese of Portland, Oregon